


///A///U///R///A///

by SongOfTheAngel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon Queer Character of Color, Dystopia, F/M, Flowers, Flowers are important, Gender Dysphoria, Genderfluid Character, Human Experimentation, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mystery, Other, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Psychic Violence, Queer Character, Science Fiction, Thriller, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfTheAngel/pseuds/SongOfTheAngel
Summary: “I’m going to kill you,” Jacob said, cocking his gun.“I won’t stop you if that’s your choice,” Mezia wiggled his toes, bursts of rapid growth and decay, life and death, a cycle of regeneration and disintegration popping up from where his skin touched the ground, “you gave me a choice, so I’ll give you one too.”Jacob’s hands didn't tremble.“So, what’ll it be?”
Relationships: Jacob "Jack" Wheeler | 009 & Babylon "Baby" | 405, Mezia & Jacob "Jack" Wheeler | 009, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	1. ///D///A///F///F///O///D///I///L///S///

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for clicking on my little story. I want to first say, I really don't know if smut will be a thing in this story. If that's why you clicked cause you were perusing the E section and thinking "horny psychic sex" I'll be honest and say Idk if I'll end up writing any of that in this. I won't say I 100% won't be, but based on my ideas for the story at present, I don't find it very likely either. Secondly, that E rating is there for a reason. This story will be...dark. And if you've seen the tags you can probably understand why. The first part of this story will be following Mezia and that isn't a particularly pleasant one. There's going to be depictions of dehumanization, torture both physical and psychological with a decidedly medical/scientific edge, as well as gender dysphoria. Any chapter that deals with that in-depth I'll definitely put a CW/TW for, but note that in general, that will be felt throughout. Part 2 will be focusing on Jacob again and that's where the majority of the plot happens. I hope you enjoy! We're all in quarantine so if there's a strong enough interest I'll see about uploading weekly.

The room was white. White walls. White floor. White table stuck in the corner of the room with a white chair beside it. Both were welded to the floor. No windows. No bed. No drawer for clothes. No blankets. Nothing. Jacob raised his gun, the skin on the back of his neck tingling in the way it always did before something—usually bad—happened and stepped inside.

The door slid shut behind him with a faint click.

“I know you’re in here,” Jack said, his eyes slowly traveling across the length of the room once more. The illusion was good, flawless even, especially if it was affecting him, but— “you forgot to make a bed.”

The target didn’t respond though the tingling got worse, raking down his spine like an army of steel-toed ants. Jacob shook his head, hiding the wince behind gritted teeth. He huffed out an even breath. Then, there was a bed. White. Just like everything else, sitting welded to the floor about a yard to his left.

“Clever.”

It was strangely quiet in the room, the only sound being Jacob's breathing, echoing harsh and unfiltered in his ears. If he were a betting man, he’d place his money on it being some sort of subtle aural manipulation on top of the visual. Doubtless part of the illusion. Nasty business. Made him wonder how many of his other senses the target took hold of as well. His gaze followed the seams running across the floor—clinically precise—searching, scanning, observing. There had to be something. Some inconsistency. Something solid enough to focus on, a discrepancy with enough clout to let him _see_ —

“Are you here to kill me?” The first words spoken were soft, a whisper against his ears, and surprisingly... _young_. Despite this though, the speaker didn’t sound afraid, reserved and guarded yes, but mostly just…

Resigned.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Are you the one they call Mezia?”

Another beat.

“Sometimes,” came the response, “they mostly call me 'subject’, though. I think it makes it easier if I'm not human.”

Jacob _hmm’ed_ in acknowledgment. _Makes_ what _easier?_ He wondered. Aloud he said. “And are you?” He kept his voice steady. Even. Like the loaded gun in his hand was nothing more than a bouquet of roses. A lie of course, but--

“Are you going to kill me?” Mezia asked.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Jacob replied with another grunt.

“Then does it matter?” Mezia’s voice felt like it came from everywhere, not quite a telepathic connection, but something close. More like the sound of a singer in a large auditorium, echoing from everywhere to the point where the source itself was impossible to determine. Just like Mezia: an empty voice in the illusion of an empty room.

“Guess not.” Jacob looked at the table again. The backmost right leg of it had started to 'glitch’, stuttering in and out of focus, a thin line of what seemed like refracted light curving around it. A crack. The inconsistency he needed to break the illusion.

“I could kill you,” Mezia said in the same quiet tone. “I could have killed you the moment you stepped into the room.” Not a threat. Not a plea. A fact. A predator speaking to their unsuspecting prey.

“I know,” Jacob scoffed, “you probably knew the moment I stepped into the building,” he cleared his throat. “Why didn't you then?”

Silence.

Jacob waited. The table leg he’d been focusing on was finally starting to disintegrate. The over warm prickling on the back of his neck felt even warmer as the psychic dampener running through his spine began to work in earnest. Jacob grit his teeth.

“Because I had a choice,” Mezia said as the table faded away. Some of the pressure from Jacob’s dampener began to ease and the rest of the illusion started crumbling with it. Like a tower of blocks with the bottom pushed out of it, it all fell. Jacob let out a slow breath. “I think. For once. I could...I _can_ choose...not to be a thing. A weapon. A killer,” a pause, “I can _heal_. Not hurt. I can _choose_.” Mezia's voice cracked, “so...so...thank you, Jacob Wheeler, for at least giving me that.”

With those final words, the rest of the illusion gave way. Like glass being shattered, it broke without a sound, dangerous edges clattering around him. It looked cold and sharp, like pain, but they touched Jacob’s skin like melted snow, soft as air and nostalgic. Jacob was forced to close his eyes, everything too bright, too soft, too light.

When he opened them again, the room was still white—technically—but it was hidden under a fine layer of green, of vines and orchids that lined the walls, traveling across the floor under Jacob’s feet and over every other free surface of the room, like the bed and the chest of drawers not too far from it. There were small shrubs growing in the spot the table had been, vibrant flashes of colour—pink and blue and red flowers blooming over them, their petals soft and succulent. Further still though, huddled between a wall and a deer with a ghostly white pelt and antlers that looked more like branches, was a figure, clad in a simple white gown.

“Mezia,” Jacob said, gun raised to a point. There was a crown of flowers on Mezia’s head, blooms growing in his curls. His skin was tan like caramel or peanut butter and his feet were bare. A dove with a strange gray marking around its neck rested perched on his shoulder. He offered Jacob a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes which seemed to glow with a faint amber light, right behind the iris.

“Jacob,” he said, running a slender hand over the deer’s flank.

“I’m going to kill you,” Jacob said, cocking his gun.

“I won’t stop you if that’s your choice,” Mezia wiggled his toes, bursts of rapid growth and decay, life and death, a cycle of regeneration and disintegration popping up from where his skin touched the ground, “you gave me a choice, so I’ll give you one too.”

Jacob’s hands didn't tremble.

“So, what’ll it be?”

With a deep breath, Jacob Wheeler aimed his gun.


	2. PART ONE: M E Z I A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story begins with the seed of a dream

**_The Blooming was a coalescence of stars_ **

**_A funnel of light_ **

**_Under a stark Nevada sky_ **

**_A void_ **

**_Now empty_ **

**_Poached of reason_ **

**_Birthing something new_ **

****

**_Our chronicle begins here_ **

**_At the point where the sky touched the earth_ **

**_Where seeds and dreams are one in the same_ **

**_And logic ceased to have meaning_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Daffodils are a springtime staple that signifies rebirth and new beginnings.


End file.
